Cass’s eyes were on Truman. “The cabin was burning and we followed the others through the woods.”
“Cars were starting up,” he said.
“And a motorcycle.”
“Did you see them?” Kado asked.
“No,” she sighed. “There was a track running across the clearing, past the cabin. They must’ve parked somewhere down there. Did you get anything from the tire tracks?”
“We have a few partials of treads and shoes. I’ll run them against the databases, but there’s not much to work with. I found the old pickup that Salter drove from his house to the clearing. We found a shopping bag with a birthday card in it. Looks like it was for his daughter.”
“So that’s what he bought. Poor child, to lose her father like this.”
“We also found a motorcycle and another truck with bad plates. We had them towed to the impound lot last night. I’ll dust for fingerprints today.” He exhaled heavily. The flat planes of his face were lined with fatigue. “There were several buckets full of blood in the clearing.”
“Human?”
“Yeah. I don’t know whose yet.”
“Dear God,” she breathed, rocking forward to place her elbows on the table.
“I guess you and Bernie were right, when you thought they might be collecting the blood for some sort of ritual.”
“Washed in the blood of the Lamb. Unbelievable.”
“Disgusting,” Kado said. “When you found Salter, he was already bleeding?”
Cass glanced at Truman. “Yes. Truman tied tourniquets around his legs and I held them until he got back with help, but I couldn’t stop the bleeding.”
“Grey said you bought him an extra ten minutes or so, Cass,” Kado said quietly. “That barb ripped into the femoral artery and he would’ve bled out sooner or later.” He watched her closely. “You told Truman that you’d killed Salter?”
She stood and moved to the sink and raised the window above it a few inches, then crossed her arms over her chest. The night was silent, the air lifeless and chill in anticipation of the coming storm. She thought back through her interrogation of Salter, the actions she had taken to force information from him – holding the power of life and death in her hands and using it to get what she needed. What she wanted. Wasn’t that exactly what The Church did? She wasn’t proud of how she had handled it, and yet the only thing she would change was to hold on tighter as Salter alluded to Jack’s imprisonment.
Lightning flashed again, illuminating her mother’s garden. She studied her reflection in the darkened window and knew that lying to Kado and Truman wasn’t an option, not if she expected their trust. “Salter would’ve bled to death one way or another. But,” she added, shivering as she turned to face them, “I didn’t keep full pressure on the tourniquets all the time.”
Truman frowned in confusion while Kado slowly nodded. “Did he talk?”
“Some.”
“Anything useful?”
She considered Salter’s words. “He said he didn’t know about Lenny’s photographs and swore he wasn’t in them.”
“Do you believe him?”
Truman cleared his throat. “Grey let me take photographs of the bodies, and I matched some of the men in Lenny Scarborough’s shots to Cronus and Newton. Salter wasn’t in any of them.”
“You sure?” Cass asked.
“Yes.”
“Then maybe he was telling the truth. He was genuinely shocked at the idea that the group was abusing kids. He had some suspicions, but that The Church was suffering a split. A schism, he called it. Some members wanted to be more radical, violent, in what they were trying to achieve, and some wanted to go back to their original ways, which focused more on economic intimidation.”
“Did he name names?” Truman asked.
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t give the other members up. And when I asked why he stayed with The Church if he disagreed with the things they were doing, he claimed they would kill him. And he said a few things that were interesting. Remember Toby Waller?”
“Yeah,” Truman said while Kado frowned.
“Toby died not long before you came to Arcadia,” Cass told him. She explained Waller’s erratic behavior after he lost his job and his house. “Salter claimed that he didn’t commit suicide – he was murdered.”
“Why?” Truman asked. “Waller was a nobody.”
“Economic reasons, Salter said. What’s happened to his property?”
Truman’s hazel eyes widened. “They’re building a car dealership on it.”
“They killed him so somebody could build where his house was?” Kado asked.
“To create jobs for Christian men. There’s more,” she continued, telling them what Salter had said about the hot house fire. “He claimed that they’ve scared off a serious dealer by burning his marijuana factory down. Did you find any bags of potting soil at the hot house?” she asked Kado.
“There were quite a few stacked in one corner. None of them burned.”
“Did you open them?”
“No. Why?”
“Salter claims they contain bags of cocaine.” Kado blinked as Cass looked at Truman. “Those problems you were investigating, working undercover in Elysian Fields?”
“Yeah?”
“He said that the ‘entrepreneur’ running the hot house was supplying all the coke in the area.”
Truman’s eyes narrowed to slits. “And so they’re helping us by putting drug dealers out of business?”
“Salter said that actions like these are necessary because the police don’t have enough power.”
Kado grunted. “So who started the fire?”
“Goober’s devil of light. The guy who seems to do all the heavy lifting for The Church.”
“I really screwed up,” Kado sighed. “If one guy has done all this burning and killing, we could’ve had him.”
“What happens to that DNA report?” Cass asked.
“It stays on file, for what it’s worth.”
“So if we do find this guy, we can link him to Chad Garrett’s death?”
Kado snorted. “Only if his DNA swab gets contaminated in exactly the same way.”
“Good point.” She drew a deep breath. “What happened to Deacon Cronus?”
Kado cleared his throat. “It’s not clear. Munk said Petchard got untangled from his ropes and came to help with Evelyn about the time the generator exploded. Nobody was hurt, but they must’ve been stunned. By the time they were able to check on the Deacon and the girls,” he shrugged, “Cronus’s throat had been slit and the girls were huddled together by the campfire.”
Cass frowned. “Did one of the kids kill him? Retribution?”
Kado glanced at Truman. “We’re not sure yet.”
“If they didn’t do it, who did?”
“Maybe a member of the cult circled back and killed the Deacon to keep him quiet,” Truman offered.
“What was he killed with?” Cass asked.
Kado bit his lip. “A sharp knife.”
“The one Newton was going to use on Petchard?”
“We couldn’t find a knife. Any knife.” Kado glanced down at his drawing. “Given what you’ve told me, we’ll search for Newton’s, but I’m afraid it’s gone.”
“Good Lord. That knife is part of my defense. What a nightmare,” Cass said, pressing her knuckles into her eyes. “And all in the name of God.”
“All in the name of power,” Kado corrected her. He glanced at the window again. “I need to get back out to the site and organize the teams, then head to the station for the debrief.”
“There’s one more thing. I don’t know if it matters, but the first time I snuck into the clearing, two men came out of the cabin and stood on the front porch. I didn’t see them and I couldn’t hear them clearly, but I think they were talking about Evelyn Grove and what to do with her.”
“You didn’t recognize either voice?”
Cass shook her head. “One of them was smoking. I did
n’t recognize the scent at first, but it was cherry pipe tobacco. Old man Peavey was smoking a pipe when we were with him in his barn, remember?”
“Yeah,” Truman sighed. “But Elaine and Bernie stayed at that revival in App Community until almost one o’clock this morning when the thing ended. The Peavey’s never left.”
“That knocks him out of this group, then.” She sipped her coffee. “Lucius Craven smokes one, too.”
“How many men smoke pipes? Even if we could identify all of them, we can’t ask them to raise their shirts to let us look for a scar on pipe-smoking evidence alone.” Kado asked in frustration, and then answered his own question. “Too many. That’s the way this entire case has been, one slim lead after another.”
She hesitated. “I guess I should ask how Sheriff Hoffner’s doing.”
“About as good as a bear with a sore head. He’s treading water, in serious danger of going under. That reporter from Dallas is ripping him apart because his officers were involved in a cult.”
“If she’s needling him, that can’t be good for us.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. With the exception of the knife, your details tie up with the evidence and we’ve played the forensics by the book. Petchard admitted that Newton had a knife raised over him, so you’ve got some corroboration there. The DA came out to The Sanctuary last night to have a look around. He said he’ll clear it with Judge Shackleford, but now that he’s seen what Lenny Scarborough was involved in, he doesn’t plan to press charges against Angie.” Kado yawned. “The press will love that story.”
Truman checked his watch. “Should we go?”
As they pushed back from the table, Cass reached out and touched Kado’s arm. “About Salter.”
“You’re wondering if it was torture, what you did?” Kado asked. She nodded once and he shrugged, eyes flat. “Who cares? He needed killin’.” Cass blinked, and he turned to face her fully. “Think of The Church as a sick tree. Three branches were pruned tonight, and one of the newly emerging branches – Petchard – has been nipped off. That’s a quarter of the sickness gone.”
“But there’s three quarters that’s still growing.”
“You can bet they’ll be stunted for a while.” His eyes softened. “Feel no remorse, Cass. And fear nothing from us. What you said goes no farther than your –,” he glanced around the shabby room, “kitchen. Right Truman?”
“Absolutely.”
Bruce pushed into the kitchen in a whoosh of the swinging door, cell phone pressed to his ear. A dressed and shaven Abe and a very rumpled Harry followed. Abe’s face looked more worn than usual, and Cass wondered if her father had been tempted to open a bottle in worry over his daughter last night. Even when he was on the wagon, he kept booze in the house. Early on, his wife and older children had poured every bottle they found down the drain, but he simply bought more. Over time, they all realized that their efforts to keep him sober were a waste of money.
Cass studied him. Abe had been sober when she got home last night, and in spite of his appearance, was sober now. She turned her attention to Bruce, who put a finger to his lips. He listened, murmured a few words and snapped the phone shut.
“Who was that?” Cass asked as he slumped heavily into a chair.
“Evelyn Grove. Darla gave her my number.”
“Mitch?”
He nodded as the others crowded around the table. “It’s not good. His leg’s in bad shape – he broke the tibula and fibula and the wound is dirty.”
“Tibia,” Kado corrected.
“Thanks,” Bruce replied. “She said it’s bad, but they can fix it. But his lung is another story.”
“What do you mean?” Cass asked.
“They got him into surgery over in Shreveport, but he had trouble breathing. He… he died on the table.”
“What?” Cass shrieked, fingers digging into his shoulder. Truman crumpled into a chair and Kado staggered into the countertop, his face pale. Abe reached for his daughter, pulling her to his side.
“And they got him back,” Bruce hurried to explain as Harry sat next to him. “But things don’t look good. Evelyn said he’s still in surgery and they’re working on him, but they don’t know how much damage his brain suffered from lack of oxygen.”
“Oh my God,” Cass whispered, turning her face into her father’s shoulder.
“What exactly did she say about his lung, Bruce?” Kado asked.
His brow knotted with thought. “Something about acute artery lactation.”
“Acute atelectasis. It’s when the lung collapses.” Kado dug his fists into his eye sockets. “Truman, Mitch fell into a gully while he was running?”
He nodded.
“The impact could’ve caused his lung to collapse.”
“How bad is that?” Abe asked.
“Not good, but it can be repaired.”
“There was something else,” Bruce said. “A concussion to the back of his head, softball size.”
Kado frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. If he stepped into a gully, he should’ve hit his forehead or chin.”
“Somebody must’ve doubled back and clubbed him,” Truman said.
“Softball-sized sounds like a good whack,” Bruce said.
“A concussion can be mild or serious.” Kado shrugged. “We’ll just have to see.”
“And the oxygen?” Cass asked quietly.
“Could be very bad. It all depends.” He again looked at Truman. “We’re not supposed to know any of this, right?”
“Right,” Truman agreed.
“Then we get the word out, but nobody heard it from us.” He pushed away from the countertop and looked at Bruce. “Let me know when you hear from Evelyn again, all right?”
“No problem. You remember how to find your truck?”
“Truman was an Eagle Scout. We’ll be fine.”
Bruce and Cass followed them down the steps into the cool night air, and watched as they slipped into the woods to a deep rumble of thunder. He reached out and pulled her to him. She shivered at the warmth and strength in his solid build. “It’ll be all right.”
“I don’t know, Bruce. There’s so much that can go wrong. Everything’s changing.”
He put his chin on top of her head and rocked her gently. “It always does. But Mitch has grit in his craw. He’ll come through this just fine. And Hoffner? The man is an ass. He might not be fine, but the rest of y’all will.”
“What’s turned you into such an optimist?”
“It can’t go any other way, can it? And then there’s Kado.”
“What about him?”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“Shut up, Bruce,” she sniffed, twisting to look up and seeing his lips pucker.
“Okay, but he seems decent enough. Come on,” he said, hugging her briefly. “I’ll make more coffee. You need to get dressed and into town, don’t you?”
Lightning spiked jagged across the sky and Cass jumped at a sharp bark of thunder. “I guess so.”
He led her back up the steps. Abe and a hastily dressed Harry stood at the stove, waiting for the percolator to sputter its last. “I know, Dad,” Harry was explaining, “but the coffee is crap. You moaned about it all the time when Bobby was in the hospital. She’ll need something decent.”
“What are you doing?” Cass asked.
Abe held out an arm and she slipped underneath it, breathing in his comforting scent. “Harry’s going to Shreveport to be with Darla. I’m going to pick up Mr. and Mrs. Payne to take them over. They need to be with their daughter.”
The percolator emitted a wet burp and settled into a steady burble, and Harry filled the Thermos and two travel mugs. Cass glanced at the olive green phone on the kitchen wall. “Should we call Jack and tell him about Mitch?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“I already have,” Abe said, releasing her and taking a mug from Harry. “He’s worried to death about both of you. I’ll call him again after I’ve been to Shreveport. I’ve also cal
led the rest of your brothers. Didn’t want them to wake up and find their sister on television, wondering what in the world was going on.” He squeezed her hand. “Do you want a ride into town?”
Cass shook her head. “Bruce will take me.”
“I called the police station. They’re sending two patrol cars out here to either run the press off or clear a path so we can get out.”
“Isn’t Herman the German still out there?” Bruce asked.
Abe chuckled. “Even Herman’s no match for that blonde from Dallas.”
CHAPTER 95
CASS RAISED A HAND to shield her eyes from the blinding light. Bruce cursed and slowed to a crawl, glaring through the water sheeted windshield at the swarm of reporters pressing against the truck. The rain had started as they closed the doors on Bruce’s pickup at home, a punishing thrum of fat drops that drove the reporters back into their vans and created a clear path for the patrol cars to lead them out of the driveway. A lone van had followed from the house, sticking close down the winding country roads and along the nearly deserted highway. The storm intensified near Arcadia’s downtown, streaks of lightning illuminating the heavy courthouse trees thrashing in the wind, thunder bellowing in the close confines of the square.
Bruce pulled into the parking lot behind the building, the news van nosing against his bumper. A new round of lights flipped on and misshapen figures emerged from the wall of water – men and their cameras covered with slick rain gear and drenched reporters huddling under umbrellas that flipped inside-out with the wind, their microphones bravely thrust toward Cass’s window.
She had been full of turmoil on the ride to the courthouse, her mind racing through a jumbled mix of dreams, events at The Sanctuary, and snatches of the conversation with Kado and Truman. Over and over she replayed her shots at Greg Newton, the scene with Jed Salter, and the sight of Deacon Cronus drenched in his own blood. Alternate scenarios fought for dominance in her brain, and a series of “what if” questions threatened her belief that her actions were legitimate. She battled thoughts of Mitch as dead or permanently injured. It simply wasn’t possible that he wouldn’t walk back into the squad room, blue eyes twinkling and looking for a donut. And then it struck her that maybe she was the one who wouldn’t be in the squad room. Her already queasy stomach lurched.
The Devil of Light (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 1) Page 41
